


give you my older heart (still and strong)

by zayheathers



Series: sketchbook one-shots/stories [4]
Category: Hilda (Cartoon)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, F/F, Frida the Librarian, Gen, Meet-Cute, david: let's go lesbians let's go, hilda getting reacquainted with humanity, hilda moves into trolberg when she is older and wiser, i love two (2) seasoned lesbians helping two (2) baby lesbians figure out their feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28824696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zayheathers/pseuds/zayheathers
Summary: But she is ready. She knows she’s ready, has never been more sure of anything. It’s been five years—half a decade—and she thinks that maybe she’s kept them both waiting long enough.Or, in which Hilda's sixteen-year-old stubbornness leads to a deal being struck: Johanna moving to Trolberg without her. But it's been five years, and she's ready to move back into the real world.
Relationships: David & Frida & Hilda (Hilda), Frida/Hilda (Hilda), Johanna & Bellkeeper, Johanna | Hilda's Mum/The Librarian (Hilda)
Series: sketchbook one-shots/stories [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060220
Comments: 24
Kudos: 108





	1. swear that we'll never grow up

> I wish I met you further along
> 
> Gave you my older heart, still and strong
> 
> But I wouldn't have a fire like I do today
> 
> Oh, it burns for you babe
> 
> Oh, you got nothing on my tendency to be led astray
> 
> Oh, it took a blindside hit to show me the right of way
> 
> — _Wandering Child_ , Wild Rivers

* * *

Packing all her belongings (well, actually, just all the ones that actually mean something to her, that she really  _ needs _ ) is an easy feat. She doesn’t have many, is selective about what she lets into her life, and it all fits into a semi-large backpack pretty much. For once, she thanks her sparse life.

“C’mon, Twig,” she says to her deerfox, pulling him forward a little. He’s scared, but she can’t blame him. So is she. But then again, she isn’t six-foot with huge antlers and an animal instinct. “Mum’ll be there to meet us. You know her. Besides, Alfur’s coming with us, and I  _ know  _ you like him.”

He whines, and she suddenly remembers when she was five or six—maybe seven—when she’d found him down in the rocks. It’s been quite a while now, but Twig is still  _ Twig _ , and he’s still wary of new beginnings. But they’ve  _ been  _ down to the town before, and actually living there won’t really be that big a difference. Will it?

“Twig, come  _ on _ . We’ve got to go, we can’t be late.” She sighs, fishing into her side-bag for his snacks. Drastic times, she guesses, call for drastic measures. Though at this rate, with how many ‘drastic measures’ she’s had to take, Twig’ll be lucky if he can still see his feet in a few years time. 

Over-feeding is not something to be taken lightly, at least that’s what Alfur had said, and she usually trusts him about this stuff. “Fine, I’ll give you  _ loads  _ of treats when we get there, how’s that sound?”

Twig gives a happy whine this time, and she takes that as a yes, briefly pausing to tie her blue hair in a ponytail, and attaching her satchel to her backpack for the moment so she can pull on her favourite red sweater and roll up the sleeves—she’s pretty sure it’s her mum’s old jumper. It still smells like her.

Swinging onto Twig’s back, she lets him start at a cautious canter, before egging him on into a proper gallop. “Come on, boy,” she says, whispering it into the wind. She knows this might be the last time she’ll feel the bite of the cold air as she rides, the crisp, free adrenaline rush, the wind pulling her blue hair free from it’s tight hold.

But she  _ is  _ ready. She knows she’s ready, has never been more sure of anything. It’s been five years—half a decade—and she thinks that maybe she’s kept them waiting long enough. 

On the ride to the city, to Trolberg, she thinks about the first time she’d left her mum. She’d been sixteen, and her mum was planning to move back to the place she grew up, something Hilda hadn’t beenkeen on at all. She liked her life in the woods, liked their little house, their wild friends, and nothing on Earth, not even a force as strong as her mum, was going to make her leave.

That’d been what she’d said— _ yelled _ —and her mum, after a pause, had sighed. “Alright then, Hilda,” she said, and there had been tears in her eyes that pulled at Hilda’s heart, still pull at her heart when she thinks about that day, and her mum had sat her down like she did when Hilda was little. “We’ll stay here. But it’s just, I worry about you. I can’t— _ we  _ can’t stay out here, isolated, forever. Sooner or later we’ll have to move back into reality.”

And it had been fine, for a while. But Hilda had started to notice the way her mum’s shoulders sank and sagged, the way her hair became rumpled and sad, and the way her eyes drifted off, became distant whenever she stayed still for long enough. But being sixteen, Hilda hadn’t really cared all that much, content to ignore her because as long as she got her way, she was happy.

Alfur had been the one to knock some sense into her. 

“Johanna’s feeling terrible,” he’d said to her, one night, and Hilda had been instantly angry. “You’re making her life a living hell.”

“What are you talking about? She’s  _ fine _ . I’m not doing anything  _ wrong _ .”

“She’s not  _ fine _ , Hilda, and you know it. Look at her, she’s driving herself to insanity just so you can stay here. Everytime I look at her, she looks stuck. She wants out, she needs it. I know that you’re a selfless person, Hilda, but consider being selfless when it concerns your mum, too.” With that, he’d left—arms crossed and lined feet angry—and Hilda was left with her extremely guilty thoughts.

By the next morning, she’d made up her mind. 

Alright, fine, she was too stubborn to leave for Trolberg, but she knew that her mum didn’t deserve to live her life all by herself here; where all she had was a selfish daughter, tiny little elves, and Twig to keep her company.

Which might sound  _ just fine  _ to Hilda, but for Mum, it’d been a long sixteen years. 

She deserved a break, deserved to make some other, new, friends. Deserved to live in a big, bright city—the kind that scared sixteen-year-old Hilda more than she cared to admit. 

So, an agreement had been met. Mum would move into the city, into Trolberg, and Hilda would stay out in the woods—but she’d have to come visit her mum every once in a while, which she did. Even if all they did was stay in Mum’s small, cozy apartment, they still enjoyed each other’s company, and Johanna got to watch her daughter grow with her visits every few days.

_ “You can come join me when you’re ready, Darling.” Mum had said. “Take your own time.” _

Which became more infrequent, became every few weeks, became every few months. Became longer than Hilda thinks it should. But she’s busy. They both are.

Now, she watches the trees blur into streaks of green and red and orange and blue. The world’s always been tinted a certain way out here. Hilda wonders if it’ll be like that in the city.

She closes her eyes and leans forward, almost laying on Twig’s neck, listening to the rhythmic trotting of his feet on solid rock, the splash when they inevitably pass through a few streams, the dull  _ thuds _ when they run through wild and thickly grass. 

Glancing to the side, she sees the sun. The way it paints the sky and everything under it is beautiful. The very sight of it makes her heart race and her head feel lighter than air. Hilda feels free. 

She wonders how loud it’ll be in the city, and if she’ll be able to hear the breath of every creature—from the smallest ladybird, to the eagles soaring high in the sky.  _ Wonder what it’s like to fly. _

Much too quickly, they’ve arrived at the gate, and Hilda dismounts.

The man guarding the gate—she doesn’t know his name, knows from the letters she’s exchanged with her mum that the whole Safety Patrol had been replaced after that corruption scandal—is a little afraid of her. Hilda isn’t sure if it’s the deerfox, or her general demeanor, but she doesn’t even pretend that it doesn’t please her.

And she didn’t even have to bring out her sword. 

“Hi there. I’m Hilda.” She has to squint to fully look at the man—it’s very nearly dark, after all, and he’s being illuminated from behind from the bright light hiding behind city walls—and it’s revealed that he’s quite small, scrawny and dark blonde. 

“Y-yeah?” The guard says nervously, and Hilda has to hide a smile.

“Yeah, can you, uh, let me in? I’m not in a rush or anything, but it is a bit cold out here.”

“Oh,” he says, seeming to suddenly remember that he had a job to do, “um, of course.”

With a slight creak, the doors open, and Hilda experiences what can only be—to her overdramatic, twenty-one-year-old mind—a heart attack. 

She was right, the city  _ is  _ bright. But where she’d imagined violent, brash, synthetic light, there’s an abundant soft orange glow, warm and friendly and welcoming in a way she hadn’t come to expect. In all honesty, she’d actively avoided the night-life in Trolberg, expecting to be assaulted by harsh colours.

Instead, she’s taken aback, awestruck. As her eyes follow the beautiful fairy lights, takes in the twisting road and old brick, the unique, individual houses and the way they line up with each other, compliment each other in space and palette. And as she studies the genuine, kind faces that roam the streets, she thinks with a gasp,  _ wow, Trolberg is beautiful _ .

There’s a hand on her shoulder, suddenly, warm and solid, and she immediately knows who it is. Turning around, she looks down—actually looks down, since she’s a centimeter-or-so shorter than Hilda, now (which isn’t  _ that  _ much, but it’s enough to make her feel  _ tall _ )—into the smiling, tearful, and unbelievably relieved face of her mother.

She doesn’t hesitate when she pulls her into a crushing hug, feeling a certain soundness when Mum hugs her back just as hard. “Hilda,” her mum breathes, taking her face into her hand with a palm on her cheek, “let me look at you.”

Hilda just grins, a lopsided thing (something she knows her mum isn’t used to, if the stutter of her breath is any indication), and does as she’s told.

It’s been half a year or so since they last saw each other, but even so, her Mum has the same reaction every time. She knows that she’s different now, than that sixteen-year-old girl who couldn’t get over herself and got what she wanted. She’s tall and a little broad, but mostly lean. There’s a confidence in her step that’s always been there, and she’d given herself a fringe in the last month.

“Hey, Mum.”

“Hi, darling,” she says back, playing with the ends of her fringe. “These are the same as mine were. You copying me?” Mum asks, playfully, and Hilda sticks out her tongue, feeling so small again. But in a way that makes her feel safe, makes her feel protected.

“Always,” she shoots back, cheeky, and her Mum laughs. “What about you,” Hilda says, looking at the new streak of grey in her brown hair. There are crinkles at the side of her eyes, ones that make her look wise and worn, but forever light-hearted and full-spirited. “You look amazing.”

“Oh please, your old Mum’s just that. Getting old.”

“It’s good to see you, though, Mum.”

“And it’s wonderful to see you too.” She cups Hilda’s face again, apparently not being able to help herself. “My big twenty-one year-old,” she coos, squishing her cheeks.

Hilda swats her hands away, face red and embarrassed, but not angry or irritated in the way her younger self might have been. “ _ Mum! _ ” She says, scandalised. 

Her mum just laughs, walking away and beckoning her to follow. “Come on, I’ve got some pie warming in the oven. We’d best get going if we don’t want it cold.”

She catches up to her, offering her arm (which Mum takes with a teasing, “such a gentleman,”), and mock-salutes. “Aye-aye, sir.”


	2. hang on, your worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hilda's first night (and morning). she also pays the library a visit. and yes, that IS a star wars reference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I MEAN to make their dynamic han/leia-esque? no. but I enjoy it this way. and it'll only be for a little while anyway; I envisioned older!hilda to be quite snarky + stubborn, and also wildly independent (i.e not liking being told what to do).
> 
> which is, funnily enough, how this happened.

The apartment is the same as it was last time she was in it, clean and cozy and lived-in. Her mum’s little workstation is there, tucked into the corner, and as they walk through the door and take off their heavy boots (in Hilda’s case), their socks make muted padding sounds on the cold, wooden floor.

She likes the feeling, reminds her of home. Of her woods. Reminds her that maybe she can be at home here, too.

“It’s the same,” Hilda says quietly, because it feels like if she speaks too loud some sort of unspoken moment. Mum looks at her, eyes shining and expression soft. “Like I remembered it.”

“Well,” Mum says, “I haven’t really gotten around to changing much since your last visit. Your room’s still the same, too, though you might find the odd lost glove in there, or something. Tontu’s taken to using it when he thinks I’m not looking.”

Hilda laughs, remembering the nisse from her last few visits. He’d been small, snarky, and sarcastic, and Hilda had taken a liking to him instantly. “That’s alright.”

She moves towards the kitchen, to where she knows the kettle’s placed, and fills it with water. “Tea?” She asks, absentmindedly rubbing Twig’s ear where he’s leaning his head on the counter after bending to fit through the door.

“Yes, please. I've had a _long_ day.”

While the tea boils, Hilda looks through the window overlooking the streets of Trolberg. She watches the cars drive by with their low, lulling grumbles, reflecting soft golden lights on their hoods from the streetlamps. She watches people take midnight strolls, young and old, and enjoys the rhythmic falls of their steps, the nebulous, quiet chatter.

“It’s peaceful,” she says, and even to her own ears, she sounds surprised. “Quiet.”

Her mum nods, settling down on the couch and tucking her feet under her. She looks comfortable, cozy, and her eyes sparkle with contentment and absolute joy when she smiles. It’s a wonderful feeling, to be reunited with a person who makes any place feel like a home, to feel whole again.

"It's wonderfully tranquil at night," Mum says. Hilda nods, because she can't help but agree.

Living alone in the woods certainly had its benefits, Hilda can surely vouch for that, but it had been exactly that: _alone._ The past five years had been amazing, but had also felt like it was missing a piece, like when she moved, there was always some inexplicable empty space moving with her.

It was her mum, she knows that now. 

Patting the space beside her, Mum invites her to sit. The kettle goes off. Hilda pours the water into two awaiting cups, each with a teabag, one with two sugars and one without. “Here’s yours,” she says as she sits, passing her mother the cerulean cup lined with white swirls. That one’s always been hers.

She sighs, leaning into the couch a little more, resting one foot onto her knee. “How’ve you been?” Hilda asks.

Mum smiles. “I should be the one asking you. You’ve just been introduced into _this_ world, how about you tell me a little bit about the one _you’ve_ been living in?”

“S’alright, I guess,” she shrugs. “Woodman told me to pass along his greeting to you, by the way.”

“Did he now?”

“Yeah. At least I think he did, I only got the general gist. And I think he’ll miss us, if he had the capacity to miss anything. At any rate, he’ll notice the fact that we’re gone.”

“You’re right. I should send him a letter, or something.”

“Not a paper one,” Hilda quips, grinning, “Maybe that would send the wrong message.”

Her mum laughs—snorts, more like. She's missed that sound. “Right.”

* * *

She wakes early, even before Alfur steps out of his tiny wooden (old clock)house—which they’d gotten on Hilda’s previous visit, around the same time Mum signed the contract to see him—and just lays there as the first licks of morning sun seep through the window and onto her bed.

It shines first on the blanket at the centre of her stomach. She’d grown a bit from the last time she’d slept in the room, and so the material only goes down to her ankles—she’ll have to remind Mum to take her shopping for a new one, soon.

But quickly enough, the calm and quiet dissipates, instead replaced with the bustle associated with the kind of city-life she isn’t used to: the rumble of cars off to work, people scurrying to get breakfast before popping off somewhere, mumbles of television screens through the wall.

Hilda groans, turning around and squeezing her eyes shut. Maybe this was too quick, maybe she should have ease into it a little, instead of jumping in headfirst (but then again, that's her answer to every problem: do first, think later). 

For a second, it feels like too much, and she suddenly feels the inexplicable urge to run away. Find somewhere the air smells free and the world spins slowly instead of so, so fast. But then she opens her eyes and sees her friend, just sitting there, smiling, and her heart slows a little.

Alfur sits on the desk next to her bed, feet dangling off the edge, and fully dressed and ready for the day. He must have gotten up while she was watching the sun rise. “Good morning, Hilda,” he says with cheer, but he doesn’t speak too loud—maybe he knows what’s going on in her head. It’s a comforting thought. “How’d you sleep?”

She makes a sound, sitting up on the bed and crossing her feet. “Fine.”

“That’s good. I slept well, too.” He hops down off the desk. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

“Thanks, Alfur.”

Nodding, he gives her a genial smile. “Of course. I’ll go check if Johanna’s up. I think I can smell breakfast.”

He leaves and she gets up, stretching her joints, and makes her bed. There’s not a lot of stuff in her bag, mostly supplies and basic clothing, but she takes it all out anyway. Lays her sketchbook and pens onto her desk, and hangs her few jumpers up in her wardrobe.

That small routine is enough to wake her up, and she pulls on her old, tattered and slightly-large, red jumper. Pairs it with a pair of black leggings that bunch up at the bottom. With her boots on, and her yellow scarf haphazardly strung along her neck, she’s ready for the day.

All that’s left now is for her to tie her hair and… face the world.

Hmm. Maybe she can take a few more minutes. When's she's ready. Then she'll face the world.

When she gets outside, Mum doesn’t seem to mind how long it’d taken her to walk out her room. At the table, there’s already four plates set out—piled with eggs and hashbrowns, complete with a cup of steaming tea by each placement. 

“Morning, Hilda,” Mum calls, 

“Morning, Mum.”

“Hey, Hilda,” Tontu says in his nasally voice, and Hilda watches as he takes in a forkful of egg and hashbrown, with a much more polite table conduct she’s sure a nisse would usually have. Her mum’s having an effect on him, apparently.

“Hi, Tontu. How are you?” She asks, as she sits across from him. Faintly she smells coffee, and looks to the right to find Alfur practically inhaling it.

“I’m okay, thanks. Er, you?”

Hilda stiffles an amused laugh, “I’m good, too, thank you for asking.”

“Sure.”

She pushes her sleeves up as she eats, enjoying the comforting familiarity of her mum’s eggs, the soft clinking of metal cutlery against ceramic plates, the crunch of golden-brown hashbrowns in her mouth. 

“So what are we planning to do today?”

“I was thinking,” Hilda says, once she swallows, “we could shop for a new duvet? Mine doesn’t really cover my feet.”

“Yeah, sounds good. Though,” Mum sighs, tilting her head to the side, “I do have to go into work for a few meetings. One of the commissions I’m doing requires a collaborative effort.” She rolls her eyes, making it known just how much she likes _that_ idea. “I’d much rather stay at home with you three.”

“We’ll be fine on our own, Mum,” Hilda says with a smile, leaning forwards on her elbows.

"Yeah, Mom," Tontu adds, and that's a little surprising to hear. She looks towards her mother, who seems to be completely unperturbed by the moniker, going about her breakfast and beginning to talk.

“But maybe hold off on shopping just yet," she says, and Hilda's opportunity to ask about... _that_ passes, "I’ll hopefully be done before noon, so we can pop out for a quick lunch and stop at the shops on the way home, how’s that sound?”

“Yeah that works.” She wonders what she’ll do with all that time, between now and noon. And it’s not like she’s brought that many things to occupy her mind, anyway. As if more than three books could fit into her bag. Although, if there were a place she could get more of them… 

“I was also wondering if there’s a library, anywhere here? I could catch up on some reading, educate myself about Trolberg…?”

“Sure, it’s just on the way to my meeting place. I can drive you.”

“Fantastic.”

* * *

“Well, this is… larger than I expected.”

Before this moment, Hilda had envisioned libraries like she’d seen them in her books—or even like the one she’d had at home (not really home, anymore, though). Small, cozy, empty, worn.

But _this_ is completely extravagant. There’s books lining almost every wall, from top to bottom, and the huge window panes flood the building with light. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen so many books in one place, and there’s a surprisingly large number of people too.

“Now you know how I feel,” Alfur says on her shoulder, and Hilda laughs.

“You’re right. I _do_ know how you feel, now. Tiny!”

“Very funny, Hilda.”

“I am known for my jokes, yes.”

The woman at the front desk gives her a weird look, and only then does Hilda realise that, from an outside perspective, it might look like she’s talking to herself. Oop. She gives the woman a friendly wave, trying to shake away her stare.

She waves back, just a little hesitant—especially her smile, which shows off perfect white teeth—and Hilda takes that as a win.

Finding a book to read is simple enough. She grabs one off the shelf that catches her and Alfur’s fancy ( _‘Moon Calling: How Trolls Trudge Their Way Through The Day_ ’), as well as one for Tontu (who had told her that Mum leaves him on his own for hours at a time, so he’d be fine).

Locating a place to sit is even easier. There’s _so many_ desks and couches, for people to just _sit on_ as they please.

That’s another thing. The libraries Hilda’s seen have been ones with uncomfortable wooden chairs, and Hilda hadn’t liked the look of those.

_These_ couches, though. She throws herself down on one and is affirmed that, yes, it really is as soft and pillowy as it looks. And, she notes happily, there’s a table in front of her, just in case she’d want to prop her feet up.

_Amazing._

Surprisingly, the book passes by quite quickly. It’s chock full of facts and fables Hilda’s already aware of, of course, but the author is engaging and charming enough to be more than an interesting read. She giggles and laughs, and Alfur is scandalised at the amount of misinformation, but all in all, it's a good experience.

Though, if she could just get her hair to sit still, instead of falling out of her ponytail and in front of her face, it’d be _so_ much better! 

With a huff, she puts her book down on the table and leans forward, resting on her knees. Frustrated, she pulls her hair out of her tie, shaking all the kinks and bumps out, before pulling it upwards again.

“You shouldn’t put your book down like that.” A voice says, authoritative and clear. Hilda looks up, recognises the woman from the front desk, and is immediately rubbed the wrong way. She doesn’t really like being told what to do. “Attracts negative spirits.”

Up close, Hilda can see that she’s actually quite pretty, with her sparkling brown eyes, warm brown complexion, fluffy-looking hair. Obviously something to be noted. “Yeah,” she says, crossing her arms and standing up (it brings her a wave of satisfaction to find she’s taller than the woman), “I’m aware.”

“Well then, consider this a reminder,” she says back with a smile, sounding sharp but in a customer-friendly way. Hilda can’t help but look down at the skirt that swishes when she juts out her hip. It’s orange, falls to around her ankles, and pairs quite well with her blue hoodie, an orange stripe around the middle.

“One that I _didn’t_ need,” she emphasises.

She can see the way the woman barely suppresses a roll of her eyes. “That isn’t as obvious as you think it is. Considering the state of your book, you need to be reminded now and again.”

Hilda scoffs. “You shouldn’t assume things. Gets you into all sorts of trouble.”

“You’re one to give advice.” The lady snaps back, and now, she can tell that the woman is _really_ mad, giving up on her fake smiles and advice. “I’m the librarian, it’s my job to take care of the books. Which you _still_ haven’t picked up, by the way. It’s still faced down right now.”

Hilda growls. 

“That ruins the spine, anyway,” the woman—the librarian—says. “And I saw you putting your feet on the arm of the chair, by the way. Try not to do that, next time.”

“Alright, fine,” Hilda says, gritting her teeth and putting her hands up in mock-surrender, and emphatically deciding she wants to leave right now at this moment. Squinting at the nametag, she also decides she wants to get on this woman’s nerves as much as possible. “ _Wonderful_ to meet you, _Frida_.”

The woman—Frida (which is really quite a nice name)—only frowns, but Hilda doesn’t give a damn as she leaves the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you!! next update soon, hopefully ily all!


	3. don't leave me tongue tied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda attends a reunion, and is introduced to a handful of people (some old, some new).

The next few weeks are mostly part of an adjustment period, full of Hilda and Alfur (and, on occasion, Twig, and on rarer occasion, Raven) perusing around town, discovering all the different things they can do to fill up their schedules.

After her unfortunate encounter with the Librarian, there had been that group she’d hung out with for a while, before discovering they were a bunch of smokers and animal-abusers. She’d dropped them pretty quickly after that. 

But other than that, it’s just her and Alfur (and Twig and Raven) taking to the streets and exploring on their own.

Mum, apparently, has an issue with this.

“Hilda, you’ve got to hang out more.”

“I _do_ hang out.”

“With _people?_ Your age?”

Hilda sighs, crossing her arms. “Look, Mum, I tried, I swear it. But you remember those guys, they were smoking and littering! And hurting animals! I can’t associate with those people.”

“And I’m not asking you to,” Mum says patiently, almost mirroring Hilda’s stance from where she stands across from her. “You just chose the wrong group, and that’s fine. It happens. But, maybe, could you give it another go?”

Hilda huffs.

“And I’ll even help you out this time,” she continues, a small smile on her face.

“How?” Hilda asks, a little pointed, because she doesn’t like the implication that she _needs_ help (even though she _knows_ she does).

Her mum takes a seat at the kitchen table, looking playful and earnest. “Well, remember the Sparrow Scout thing I told you about?” Hilda nods. “They’re having a reunion this weekend, and I’ll be going with my friend, Kaisa. Her sister should be coming, too—I think she’s about your age.”

“Your friend?” Hilda says, skeptical, because from everything she’s heard about this ‘Kaisa,’ she doesn’t really seem like _just_ a friend. Maybe her mum’s in denial? Then again, she doesn’t really seem the type.

“Yes, Hilda, my friend,” her mum says, exasperatedly.

“I thought your friend was the lady from the Safety Patrol?” _Glinda? Greta? Something extremely German?_

“Gerda?” Mum says, and _yeah that’s the one_. She sighs. “Funny thing about having friends, Hilda, is that you can sometimes have more than one.”

Hilda laughs. “I see you’ve got jokes now.”

Quirking her lips to the side in amusement, her mum fires back, “I’ve had jokes the whole time, Hilda, you just haven’t been able to get them.”

“Now, _that_ was funny.”

“Har har.”

* * *

After that, it isn’t really difficult to be wrangled into going to the reunion or whatever event her mum had been talking about. It’s not like Hilda has much to do, and since Mum’s been raving about the Sparrow Scouts since forever, might as well find out what exactly that is.

Mum drives them that weekend to a small patch of forest where a large wooden cabin-type thing stands, surrounded by organised rows of flowers and bushes, a gravel path leading up to it. Sparrow Scout headquarters, she assumes. 

“This is it?” Hilda says when they pull up by another tiny car, only this one bright red instead of yellow. She’s a little woozy, having fallen asleep on the journey, even though it’d been less than lengthy.

Mum laughs, looking so excited—and Hilda swears from this moment she’s going to do all she can to make it the experience she knows her mum hopes for it to be.

“Yup. Scout Hall’s been the Sparrow Scout building for generations. I’m really happy you’ll get to know it a little, even if you are, technically, above Scout age… by a _small_ margin.”

There’s a brief pause when they both look to the backseat, checking up on Twig and making sure he remembers how to open the car door like he’d been taught. He does. “Technically?”

“Yeah,” Mum says, sheepishly tilting her head to the side. “I checked the handbook,” she murmurs out of the corner of her mouth, and Hilda laughs, “you’re too old by three years.”

“A real shame,” Hilda deadpans as she steps out of the car.

“It is!” Her mum insists as she does the same.

They’ve parked a walk away from the Scout Hall, in a just-nice spot between the outskirts of the busy crowd and the lone outline of a car in a much too far walk. 

As they start walking—her mum taking her offered arm—Hilda takes a deep breath and thinks about how similar the air smells to the free, fresh air she’d known so well. Thinks about how, not for the first time, this place maybe isn’t so different from what she knows. She listens to the crunch of gravel beneath her solid boots and marvels at how much she enjoys it.

Twig likes it too—apparent as he jumps up and down on his four legs, kicking the rubble every which way. Hilda knows they’re getting stares because of him, but she wasn’t about to leave her best friend in the whole world at home alone while she had to suffer through this reunion.

Waking down the path, she watches all kinds of people make their way to the Hall; old and young, some looking _very_ excited, and some looking as though they’d rather be anywhere else than come to this thing at all. She giggles to herself, feeling a little of their pain.

Up close, Sparrow Scout Hall is a fittingly average building; it’s nice, small and quaint, just a little extravagant. There’s a red flag flying above the roof from a pole, with a golden or yellow crest embroidered in the centre. 

Now, Hilda doesn’t have the best eyesight, but she’s willing to bet that the words written on it have something to do with the Sparrow Scouts: helpful and kind, and all that.

“You’re sure you’re ready for this?” Mum asks, when they approach the building entrance.

Hilda shrugs. “I’ll have to get it over with sooner or later. Besides, how bad could it be?”

When they push the door open, Hilda almost immediately starts to rethink that mindset in her head. It’s not loud or booming with life, not at all. But there’s a low murmur of conversation vibrating around the room, full of faces Hilda doesn’t recognise. People standing close and laughing, making everything seem so _easy_.

She feels her heart rate speed up.

“Twig might have to stay outside,” Mum says gently to her, cautiously placing a hand on her arm and stopping her from fully stepping through the door, “I know it’s not ideal, but he isn’t exactly allowed inside.”

Alfur hops down from her shoulder and onto Twig’s head. Funny, she’d almost forgotten he was there. “I’ll stay with him, Hilda. Don’t worry about us!” He gives her one of his cheesy, wide grins and Hilda can’t help the answering smile on her own face.

“I—” she sighs. “Alright then. But we won’t be long, right Mum?”

“Of course, darling.” Mum says, taking her hand and giving it a tight, reassuring squeeze, and Hilda suddenly feels so, very young. It’s the most afraid she’s felt in a long while, even with all the encounters she’s had with trolls and wild animals.

Now she feels like the ground’s about to open up from under her, or like she’s walking a tightrope with nothing to steady her. No means of balance or safety.

Mum pushes the door open again, since it’d swung closed when they told Twig to wait outside (is it too late to beg for him to join them?). Leading Hilda inside, Mum walks through first. 

Her daughter follows, and when she finally steps foot into the hall, the first thing she’s assaulted with is the expansive warmth that seems to settle onto every single thing in the room. The people’s chatter is tinged with it, their food and drinks, their friendly smiles and ringing laughter.

It’s almost too much.

Hilda takes a deep breath, remembering that this is all for the better. If she can just get this over with, this first time, it’ll be easier every time after. That’s what Mum had said.

She’s lead to a chair-less table that perhaps three or four people stand around. Mum is apparently friendly with them, since the moment they get there, she’s enveloped in pleasantries and kind embraces. They’ve already got her a drink.

Stepping behind, she hangs back, feeling more than a little awkward.

“And this is Hilda,” Mum’s saying, all at once, gesturing to her. “My daughter.”

One thing Hilda’s glad for is that Mum doesn’t force her to say hello like she knows other mum’s would.

“Oh, so this is Hilda,” one woman says. She looks to be around the same age as her mum, half an inch or so shorter with jet black hair and purple tips. She wears a cape too, Hilda notices, and she thinks that’s pretty cool. 

“This is the twenty-year old?” Purple-hair continues asking, sounding unimpressed or bored (maybe both), taking a sip of her similarly coloured drink.

“Twenty-one, actually.”

“Ah, the same age as Fridzi. I remember now.”

“Yeah,” Mum’s says, a soft smile on her face Hilda’s never seen before. “Hilda,” she’s then saying, bringing her forward a little. This is Kaisa. Kaisa, Hilda.”

Oh. So  _ this  _ is Kaisa.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

They shake hands. Kaisa’s hands are cold and dry.

Mum clears her throat, clearly feeling awkward, and introduces her to the rest of the group. “And this is Gerda, Simon, Tildy, and Ms. Hallgrim—”

“Johanna, how many times must I tell you? It’s—”

“Rachel, yes. Sorry, force of habit.”

Hilda manages to nod at all of them, shaking herself out of her discomfort, and pretending that they’re all animals so she can act properly around them, instead of stock-still like a stone troll in the middle of the day. Clearly, she’s better than that.

She turns to Kaisa, realising that there’s a reason the older woman’s acting so stiff and distant towards her.  _ She’s _ nervous, too. Well, she’ll have to exploit that. “So,” she drawls, in the nosiest tone she can muster, “Kaisa, what do you do?”

Beside her, she ignores Mum’s brief coughing fit.

Kaisa, however, seems mostly unphased—except for the hand that shoots out to soothe Mum’s back (instinctive, apparently, if the way she attaches it back to her side once she notices Hilda looking means anything). “I work at the Trolberg library,” she says, expression back to smooth, and Hilda’s confused by that small piece of information.

“Uh, I met the librarian. Frida?” she says, “and… she was not… you.”

Kaisa smiles, and it’s an expression that looks a little strange on her face. Not bad, just… uncommon. “Yes that was my sister—well, practically my sister. We are not really related but I consider her to be my sister. Actually, in terms of—”

The oldest woman at the table, with soft and cloudy looking hair (Tildy, was it?), clears her throat pointedly.

“Right,” Kaisa continues. “Anyway, my  _ sister _ also is a Librarian. Not fully trained yet, but almost there. Though she did not mention meeting you.”

“Probably because she didn’t really. She got mad at me for putting a book down wrong, so I left.”

That inspires a loud, surprised, rough bark of laughter from Kaisa, who tries to quickly hide it by pressing her pale lips together. “Yes,” she says, still a smile in her voice, “that sounds like her.”

“Sounds like who?” A voice says from behind them. “Here, Kai,” the person continues, and Hilda watches an awfully familiar face hand Kaisa another drink, round and kind and warm, “they ran out of your favourite, but I thought you might enjoy some—”

Her head turns almost unthinkingly, and Hilda finds her eyes locked with startlingly deep brown ones. Shit.

“Hey,” she says, sheepishly.

  
“ _ You _ .” Frida says, almost murderous.

This is going to be a _riot_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay, hope you enjoy!!


	4. leave what's heavy behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amends are made.

This is awkward. This entire situation is awkward. Hilda feels her ears flush red, and she rubs the back of her neck with her palm in an embarrassed tic, attempting to put on a charming smile. 

It doesn’t work, and Frida only crosses her arms and glares. She feels multiple pairs of eyes on them, and she silently wills her mum to do something—but the woman doesn’t seem to get the message. _What’s the point of a mother-daughter relationship then,_ Hilda thinks wryly. 

“Uh,” she says out loud, briefly contemplating offering her hand in greeting, but thinking better of it. She likes her hand _on_ her body, thank you very much. “Sorry we got off on the wrong foot—”

Frida scoffs.

She’ll have to try harder, then. For Mum’s peace of mind, because Hilda can practically _hear_ her begging her to play nice. “Hey, I really am sorry about—”

“Disrespecting my books?” Frida interrupts, fixing an accusatory glare at her. 

That rubs Hilda the wrong way immediately—the way she says it with such stubborn disdain—and all thoughts of ‘playing nice’ fly right out the window, past the belltower, and far away from Trolberg. She hadn’t ‘disrespected’ anything, especially not books. And she’ll make sure Frida knows it. “I didn’t actually. And anyway, they aren’t _your_ books. Technically, they belong to the library.”

“Which is _so_ much better,” Frida drawls, her arms still tight across her chest. “I’m not going to police your terrible treatment of your own books at home, but when it’s public domain, it’s my _job_.” She almost seems to look her up and down, eyebrow raised in disdain, and lips pursed in judgement.

Hilda frowns, her finger raising to aggressively point at the shorter woman—who suddenly seems much closer than she was before. (Maybe Hilda had taken a step forward). “Look _Miss_ , I don’t know who you think you are or why you think you know so much about me, but you’re wrong, alright? I treat my books _perfectly_ fine. Wonderfully, in fact.”

“Don’t get so defensive.”

“I’m not!” Hilda snaps, but then realises the only way to win this is to turn the tables on the shorter woman. She takes a short breath. “And don’t you have better things to do anyway, rather than tell me off about books, of all things?” She hums scornfully at her, full of mock-sympathy. “Pity you don’t have friends, then.”

Frida huffs angrily, her eyebrows slanting downwards (and if Hilda were in a different state of mind, she would call it quite adorable), “I have _friends_.”

“Oh yeah?”

“ _Yes_ .” She says, and gestures to the skinny, Safety Patrol man who’d let Hilda into Trolberg that first night, all those weeks ago. He’s standing alone at a table, two drinks in hand, and looks at them with a kind of deer-in-the-headlights expression, waving warily. “There. That’s David.” Hilda hides a smile. “My _friend_.”

“Seems a bit afraid of you.”

“He isn’t,” Frida grates through gritted teeth. Ooh, she seems to have hit a nerve.

She continues like she hadn’t been interrupted. “Though, can’t really blame him. You’re—”

“One more _word_ out of your mouth and I _swear_ —”

“You’ll tell me off again? Tell me things I already know?” She’s full on grinning now, reveling in the fact she’s driven this woman to extreme frustration—just returning the favour. It’s better than letting the blood boiling through her body sour into a fit of anger.

“You infuriating, wild… _spine-pressing_ peace-breaker!” Frida jabs her finger at her, angrier and angrier, and standing closer than before. It’s almost addicting, the adrenaline she feels run through her as they stand face to face, nose to nose. 

“Infuriating? Peace-breaker? I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” is all Hilda answers, and she swears the other woman almost hisses, or spontaneously combusts.

Whatever she’s about to retort, however, is cut off when both Kaisa and Mum simultaneously decide that enough is enough, it’s time to put an end to this, and they drag each respective family (or in Frida’s case, ‘family’) member back into their proverbial corners.

“Alright Hilda,” Mum says to her, once she’s pulled her to the side, handing her a cold drink which she immediately downs. Whatever the drink is—some sort of pink and flavourful concoction—it tastes good. “Why don’t we take a bit of a break, yeah? Maybe take a walk, cool down?”

Hilda’s first instinct is to get mad, but then she stops for a minute and thinks about it—really _thinks_ about it. And maybe thinks they’d both benefit from a little calming down. Maybe Mum’s right, as she usually is.

Instead of replying, she nods with a jerk of her head and walks away, hearing Mum’s soft and patient footsteps echo after her. The thought soothes her a little, the fact that her mum knows her well enough to not leave her alone after something like this. 

“How are you feeling?” Mum asks, pressing the back of her hand to Hilda’s forehead. She has to reach upwards, just a bit, to reach, and the sight makes Hilda smile.

“Warm. Buzzed. A little mad, but I’m definitely ‘cooling down’ just like you asked.” She shrugged. “I liked the drink.”

Mum smiles at her. “Yeah? I’m not actually sure what they put into it, but it’s been a Sparrow Scout special every reunion I’ve been to.”

Oh? She hadn’t known Mum’s been to a reunion before. “How many have you been to?”

Her mum hums, quietly thinking through the past. “Two in total, I think. Including this one. They do one every five years. Technically, only Sparrow Scout alumni are allowed to attend, but,” Mum gives her a cheeky grin, pinches her elbow playfully, “they made an exception for you.”

“Hm.” She thinks about another Sparrow Scout alumni she’s met. She thinks about Frida, about the sash she’d worn around her torso—frayed at the edges and dulled in colour with age—littered with patches on every space. “What about _Her_? Have you met her before?”

“Frida?” Not for the first time, Hilda’s glad she and her mum operate on the same wavelength. Except for her mum not getting that she'd wanted to be saved, earlier on with Frida. Maybe she'd just not wanted to help her out—which honestly seems like something she'd do.

Nodding, Mum gives her the positive she’d been expecting. “The first time I met her, actually, was when I volunteered to run the art club after school one year. Oh, don’t look at me like that, I didn’t tell you for a reason. It wasn’t the job I thought it’d be, and I’d bitten off _way_ more than I could chew. Frida was a godsend during then, organising everything, getting things done. And I know you don’t like her, but she’s good people.”

“It’s not that I don’t like her—”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Mum says, and Hilda shoves her, making them both laugh.

“It’s _not_ that I don’t like her. It’s just that… she made the wrong impression, that’s all.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re admitting that. To me.”

“ _Yes,_ Mum—don’t make me say it again,” Hilda shoots at her, but it lacks any real heat. They both know what they’re doing, taking away the tension by easing it with jokes. It’s a family trait, apparently.

“Alright, alright,” Mum concedes, putting her hands up, still laughing a little. “Just checking… She’s stubborn, though.”

Something she wholeheartedly agrees with. She takes another sip of her drink, leaning her elbows on the wooden railing of the outside-downstairs-balcony thing they’ve wandered to. “Yeah.”

“But so are you.”

So is she. Right.

Right. Time to double down on her stubbornness, then. She’s going to make amends if it’s the last thing she does.

“Best let her cool off as well, first,” her mum says, and this time, Hilda’s a bit dismayed that they operate on the same wavelength—that Mum can know what runs through her mind at most moments.

“I knew you were gonna say that.” Never let it be said that the wavelength doesn’t go both ways.

* * *

She’s standing at another little round table—situated in the corner of the room, half-hidden by the dim lighting, and far from her mum's little squad—when Frida’s finally calmed down enough to come find her.

Still, she can’t resist poking the belly of the beast, waking the (she’s assuming) dormant and extremely opinionated dragon in Frida’s heart. “Here to yell at me again?”

The shorter woman sighs. “No.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Frida comes closer, coming to rest her elbows on the table. “May I join you?”

“Suppose I can’t stop you,” Hilda answers, a little brisk, because, yeah, maybe she’s still a little pissed.

Again, Frida sighs, hanging her head in a way that says, ‘ _yeah I deserved that._ ’ She takes a dainty but grounding sip of the drink she’d had in her hand when walking up to Hilda’s table. “Sorry we got off on the wrong foot,” Frida says, after a long moment of trying to gather her thoughts and pressing her lips together (a mannerism similar to Kaisa, she notices).

It’s cute. Now that she’s not mad, she can think that with clear conscience. 

“That’s alright.” Hilda says, not quite looking at her. “I’m not too good with people.”

“Me either. And I _was_ acting so... difficult,” she said, putting her hands in her head in self-admonishment, with guilt and regret at her actions. “Apparently I have a hard time letting things go. And I mean, it was just a book.”

Hilda snorts. “You’re telling me.”

“Hey—”

“Right, right. Sorry.” Supposed to be making amends, right. “And I’m sorry I made your job hard.”

Frida shrugs. “I make it harder for myself. I didn’t have to get mad at you.”

“And I didn’t have to keep giving you reasons to be mad.”

This time, she smiles, and Hilda thinks it’s much nicer than the frown that had graced her features whenever they’d talked. “So I guess we’re agreed—”

“We’re both at fault,” Hilda finishes for her. They nod and smile, and it’s filled with a new kind of familiarity, a brand new understanding and even warmth.

“Hey, Frida,” a voice interrupts them, and Hilda jerks her head back to find the young, skinny man—David, her mind fills in for her—running towards them, skidding to a halt when he sees the two of them in deep conversation, “I got the—woah! It’s _you_ , the girl with the deerfox!”

“Woman, actually,” Hilda deadpans, her lips curled in a wry and amused grin.

“You have a deerfox?” Frida asks, full of a childish and unbelievable wonder in her eyes that Hilda hasn’t seen before. It makes her seem younger, wanting to learn and know.

“Yeah,” she says, enthusiastic, beckoning them forwards, towards the door to leave. 

As they step outside, they pass Mum’s table; and she receives Mum’s indiscreet and over the top thumbs up with a grin and a roll of her eyes—watches as Kaisa gives Frida a wide, sisterly smile, and as Frida returns it.

_Is this community? Is this what it is to have friends?_ It feels nice, she feels warm. Included.

It’s nice. Really nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for staying engaged/invested!

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully I'll update soon! (sometime next week?) hope you enjoyed the concept!
> 
> also i'm so excited for the squad to meet!


End file.
